On the riverside of promise (26 page)

“Just like loyalty. You’re trying to buy your
own brother? By God, how can I trust you from hereon after
Andy?”

“Trust is simply another commodity. There are
ways to buy it when it is needed, and chances to sell it when it
suits you.”

“You’ve never met anyone that can’t be
bought? That can’t be turned into a pawn?”

“Sure. Those are the kind of people that need
to disappear.”

“Like that General?”

“It would take an unrealistic amount of money
to buy the ruling Nigerian elite; That’s because they want the same
oil we want and they have the men and the resources to pull it off.
In that sense, we’re antagonists. In every other sense, we’re
simple colleagues.”

“Conspirators.”

“Men of trade. As long as you’re in a
position to offset a balance in your favor, there’s no sense in not
taking advantage of that. Would you see an opening, an opportunity
in a firefight and not take it?”

“In a firefight you’re fighting for your
life. What is this fighting for?”

“The same thing; survival.”

“Tell that to the poor bastards dying out
there every day. Ordinary, simple people that are happy with their
bellies full and a pint or two.”

“I think you should be seeing my point by
now. They don’t get to choose; they get to be the ones that pay
handsomely in every way imaginable to make their lives a little
more tolerable. And make people like me, like us, a lot more rich
than they could ever hope to be.”

“And why is that so bloody fucking
important?”

“There are certain interests in place that
don’t simply go away when you close your eyes. Money can control
people, it can translate into power and leverage. And that power
can grow over time. It can get you many places. Even in people’s
hearts and minds.”

“Politics?”

“The only way to really change this world, is
to make the people want it to change.”

“And what kind of change would that be?”

“The Empire has already crumbled down, Ethan.
It’s just that the people hang on to the walls and the monuments
and the crown jewels in order to shed some glittery light in their
agonizing lives. I want to make sure the future holds something
more than reminiscence for the glorious days of yore. I want to
build something new, and that would mean I’d first have to raze it
down.”

“You mean the monarchy, don’t you?” asked
Ethan in a whisper, his expression a mix of fascination and
terror.

“I mean a brand new Scotland, Ethan. A free
Scotland. There are people who view such a cause with more than
just sympathy,” said Andy and looked meaningfully at Nicole who
raised her brow in response. Ethan remained silent, lost in his own
thoughts. When he managed to speak, his voice grew from a soft
whisper to an angry rumble:

“Dear God. This might sound awfully
simplistic, patronising and perhaps naive, but don’t you believe in
God? I’m not talking about heaven and hell. I’m not saying there’s
a divine judgment waiting to fall upon you and I’m not saying
there’s a pool of blood and shit waiting for you in the afterlife;
although I’d die just to know that there truly is one. All I’m
saying is, what kind of a filthy bastard are you?”

“Hopefully the filthy rich one, for starters.
Come now, Ethan, you’re making me sound like a monster. I’m not the
one behind all this misery in the world. I’m not the one that’s on
top of a button that could destroy it. And I’m not the one living
off that fear. I’m not the one that puts greed into the hearts of
men. I’m just someone who saw an opportunity and grabbed it. There
are people in the world born into such money and power and still
squander it away. There are people who fight and bleed for their
place in the sun and I’ll have my place in the sun; I’ll see
Scotland free. That’s who I am, Ethan.”

“I thought you were my brother.”

“I still am. And that’s the only reason
you’re still alive. The only reason I’m making this offer. I could
have picked someone else. We could have brought someone in from the
Service. He’d actually do it more or less for free.”

“Whereas my current price is?”

“One percent of the shares from my
five-percent cut. That leaves me and Nicole with two percent
each.”

“Aren’t you the lovely couple.”

“We’re pragmatists. It’s time you’ve become
one yourself. You have twenty four hours Ethan. These things can’t
wait.”

“And then? What happens then?”

“Ask yourself just this once: who is going to
miss you? The answer, I believe, will make it so much easier to
decide,” said Andy condescendingly, softly, as if he really felt
sorry for Ethan. Ethan remained silent for a moment before he
closed his eyes and asked:

“Andy?”

“Yes?”

“Sod off, mate,” he said without bothering to
open his eyes and gave him the finger. Andy didn’t smile or laugh;
he put his hands around his waist and looked at his brother with a
deep, concerned frown. He then told him in a hushed, nearly
wavering voice:

“Think about it, Ethan. Think about Father
Mulcahey. And I do mean, think.”

Ethan shook his head and Andy nodded. He then
turned about and went up the staircase. Nicole stood there smiling
until Ethan noticed and asked her rather dejectedly:

“What the fuck are you smiling for?”

“I rarely get this close to my marks. I’m
savouring the moment,” she said with evident joy at the prospect of
having Ethan in her sights.

“What if I say `yes’, and then we have to
work together?” asked Ethan frustrated.

“Well then, there will be other chances,” she
said, put out her cigarette on the floor and left.

All's well, that ends well

Ethan slept on and off that night, trying to
digest the events of the day before with little success. At the
hidden basement the night before, he had overheard some sort of
loud argument about whether or not he should be bound and returned
to his impromptu cell. Instead Andy had won over and Ethan was then
led by two armed men to the upper floor and confined to a small
bedroom.

They were going with the soft approach. Ethan
smiled at the thought that Andy was trying to get on his good side.
Whether it was the easy way or the hard way, in essence it made no
difference to Ethan. As he lay down on the comfortable bed all he
could think of was that his brother had actually told him himself
he was a bloody spy for the French.

His mind was filled with all the little
things they did together when they were still only children. Andy’s
answers had left him wondering still. When did his brother turn
into a man driven by greed and power lust? When did that shy kid he
had drawn into harmless mischief so many times become such a
cynical bastard?

Ethan thought it was perhaps all those years
in between that grew them apart; when he had lost himself as well.
Maybe these things just happened. But still that didn’t mean he had
to let them be.

He almost laughed aloud when he thought about
it; there he was, imprisoned by his brother, probably about to be
executed unless he cooperated in an assassination for the benefit
of the French Intelligence Service. And instead of at least trying
to think of a way to get out of there without having to become a
lackey for the French, he was contemplating ending the war
singlehandedly.

He wasn’t sure if that was at all realistic,
but he knew he had to try and escape. He had been keeping count of
the days; James would be coming for him by nightfall, and all he
knew was that he was someplace east of the River. No matter, he
thought. With any luck, getting to the rendezvous point would be
the least of his problems.

He felt galvanised into action all of a
sudden and sprang out of bed. He took a careful look outside the
window; he could still see sentries posted around the house. Late
the night before they had been almost invisible. In the morning,
Ethan could see they were carefully obscured behind brushes of
reeds and thick mangroves.

They looked calm while keeping vigilant,
their hands resting near their rifles’ safeties. They were armed
with a multitude of seemingly well-maintained weapons; no-one was
slacking about, smoking or chatting. He counted at least four men;
he estimated about ten around the mansion and perhaps double as
many underground and in the surrounding hilly areas. On top of
being well-equipped and numerous, they seemed to be quite
disciplined, always a very unwelcome trait in an enemy.

Daylight wouldn’t help and he couldn’t wait
out for the nighttime; he cursed under his breath for being so tied
up with his thoughts the night before. If there had been any good
chance of trying to slip away unnoticed it was by then long
gone.

He had heard footsteps outside his door at
some point and they seemed to be more than one man posted. He
couldn’t outrun them and he couldn’t outgun them either; all he
could hope to do was outsmart them.

He looked around the room then for a few
minutes. There were some clean sheets in the closet drawers, an old
oil lamp sitting around the bedside table and that was just about
it. He went inside the bathroom and searched the tiny cupboard;
planning ahead, someone had thought it prudent to keep a full
medical kit even in the mansion, aside from the typical bottle of
painkillers and medical alcohol. He noticed the painkillers were of
the effervescent kind and had an idea that made him grin.

He sat down on the bed, his back towards the
door. He laid it down in front of his feet and counted the items;
four medical gauzes, two sticks of morphine, two sticks of
atropine, a sterile stitching needle, salt tabs and a small,
folding double-edge serrated knife which could also pose as a
saw.

He nodded to himself reassuringly and emptied
the bottle of alcohol down the washing basin’s drain. He filled it
with water from the faucet and went back into the room. He laid
himself down on the bed, popped a mouthful of pills and then poured
some water in his mouth. He felt the pills sizzle and froth. He
threw the oil lamp on the floor and put the knife under his
buttocks. He closed his eyes and started thrashing about, making
sure he made as much noise as possible.

He then started counting silently, waiting
for them to come rushing in. There was still a chance they’d alert
someone else as well; he was counting on blind luck and a bit of
panic to make this happen.

He had counted up to seven before he heard a
key turn in the lock. They were a bit slow to make up their minds
but they hadn’t started shouting. Ethan heard them talking in a
panicked, low voice. One of them rushed to the bedside. As he was
thrashing about, Ethan fluttered his eyes while foam flowed down
his cheeks. He saw the guard kneel down to his right side and set
his rifle against the wall. As he bent forward to reach Ethan’s
mouth in fear of his tongue choking him, Ethan snapped into action
with one fluid motion.

He pulled the knife from under his buttocks,
sat suddenly upright and threw his best shot at the guard standing
by the door: The knife pierced his temple right between the eyes
and stuck there as he slumped down on the floor like a puppet with
cut strings. Following the knife’s throw, Ethan took advantage of
the other guard’s stunned surprise and knocked him, head to head.
The guard lost his balance and fell flat on the floor with a muted
thump.

Ethan was right on top of him in a flash, his
hand against his mouth. He tried to shout, but the muffled noise
was barely more than a tremor against Ethan’s hand. He bit hard
against a soft spot on Ethan’s palm and punched him in the stomach.
Ethan flinched and felt dizzy from the pain, but his other hand was
already reaching for the rifle against the wall.

The guard threw a punch with his other fist
aiming for Ethan’s face but it didn’t connect, as Ethan slid
sideways just a notch and grabbed the rifle. He thrust its stock
against the man’s ribs and made him try and fold in pain. Ethan
then raised it above his head and brought it down with as much
power as he could gather.

A cracking noise was heard and the man went
suddenly limp, his eyes stuck in a deathly cold stare towards the
ceiling. Blood started to ooze from his nose and ears.

Ethan took a moment for some much needed
breath, not so from the exertion but because of the adrenaline
rush. He needed to cool down before going into the next phase,
which was creating a suitable diversion for his escape; blowing up
the stores in the basement of the mansion.

He stood up and sat back on the bed, wiping
the foam from his cheeks. He then heard a shallow but familiar
voice:

“Fuck me, you’ve killed them both.”

It was Andy. Ethan instinctively grabbed the
rifle in front of him and aimed it at his brother who was standing
at the door. He flicked the safety off, and said flatly:

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

Andy smiled heartily and replied:

“Bugger me, why would I ever want to do
that?”

Ethan frowned and looked blatantly confused.
He was still aiming Andy though when he said: